Every morning when Celie wakes up the first thing she asks for is Fionn. "Can you get Bowbie out of his crib? I want to hug him." Or, "I want to pet him." Which many days inevitably leads to the two of them crawling around the house, Celie pretending Fionn is her bunny and Fionn more than happy to play along. If we say "no, Celie, Fionn's still sleeping," she'll wait anxiously until his first morning mumble. "He's making the sound!" she'll say excitedly, and she's off and running around the corner into his room.
"Hiiiiiiii, buddddyyyyy," we'll hear her say, "I love you soooo much..." In return, he smiles and laughs, mostly likely throwing his entire body into his greeting as he typically does when extremely happy.
What I'm quickly realizing is that my kids are a team. They always know where the other is--with a hand on the arm or an eye in the other's direction--a fact on full display this past Saturday. See, on rainy weekends, our dirty little secret is taking the kids to the mall play area before the stores open. The space is quiet, the place is clean, and the climbing things are perfectly squishy--the kind of foam that allows one to bump and fall without too much fear. For an hour, we were the only ones there as the kids chased Daddy, climbed on bears, and generally ran around like crazy people. Gradually, as others arrived, they began to fan out--but always, as always, they stayed close within range of the other--Celie looking out for Fionn and Fionn looking up to Celie.
My favorite moment, albeit perhaps not the most gracious, was when they used the buddy system to stake their claim of the golden donut. Now, while I can't say 'denying entrance to others for no good reason' is the kind of behavior Mike and I encourage, I have to admit that it was nonetheless a rather touching show of solidarity: the two of them arm-in-arm, ruling their own little roost.
